


racing stripes

by cervine_salad



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Budding Love, Dating, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Light Angst, M/M, Modern Era, Trans Character, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Trans Male Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 23:56:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17672510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cervine_salad/pseuds/cervine_salad
Summary: Shiro is a local mechanic servicing everyone with a smile -- especially the cute college boy with the racing car that belonged to his dad.





	racing stripes

“You need a new transmission,” Shiro says flatly, slapping the hood of the cherry red ‘87 Charger with the wide white racing stripe.

This thing is a piece of shit. He loves it. He also never says no to seeing her driver every time it breaks down.

“No,” whines said driver. He’s leaning over the front bumper on the passenger side, his arms spread wide like he’s wrapping his tin can in a loving embrace. “Please save her, Doc, she’s all I’ve got.”

Shiro chuckles, tries not to blush as he fidgets with his work gloves. “I can get you the new parts and install them for you, that’s not the problem.”

“Right. The problem is the price, huh?”

Shiro looks him up and down, briefly. Tight black jeans, faded red cotton t-shirt that looks soft to the touch. His dark hair is like wisps of black smoke curling just below his collar. Every time Shiro sees him, Keith just gets more beautiful.

“Well, yeah,” Shiro answers casually, “but, you know, you could probably just get a new used car for the amount it would take for me to fix this one.”

Keith frowns at him. “Nope. No. Not getting another car. This is my baby.”

“Baby’s in bad shape. She’s almost half a century old.”

“I’m not gonna pull the plug, so just give me an estimate.” Keith sighs, runs a hand through the hair at the back of his neck. Sweat glitters on his skin.

Shiro swallows. “If I can find a decent replacement that’s hardly got any miles on it, that’s one thing. But if I have to build you a new one from scratch, and you add the assembly and labor costs that my boss is gonna tack on for how much time it’s gonna take me away from the other repairs…”

Keith meets his gaze. Steady. “Give it to me straight.”

“Four grand,” Shiro deadpans. “At least.”

“Jesus Christ.” Keith rubs his face. “Fuck! Sorry, sorry, it’s not your fault.” He straightens up from the car, starts to pace back and forth across the concrete shop floor. Shiro can’t stop himself from studying the sharp stride of his lean legs. Keith is all leg, all muscle, all silky black mane, like a lion in a cage. “Okay. Sorry, I just need a minute,” Keith tells him, and he circles the car and drops into the driver’s seat, shuts the door. He sits there with his hands braced against the steering wheel, just breathing.

After a long minute, Shiro tugs off his work gloves, tosses them onto the rolling stool behind him. He rounds the front bumper to the passenger side, leans big forearms on the open window.

“I’m sorry, Keith,” he mutters. He leans his forehead against the roof, just looking at him.

“You want to get in?” Keith asks, turning as if he’s just noticed him. “Get in.”

Shiro doesn’t ask what his aim is. It’s not like the car can actually go anywhere. A little apprehensively, he slides into the passenger seat and shuts the door gently.

“We have some long-term payment options,” Shiro starts, “but you’d have to leave it here for a while, so if you have to get to school or work it could make it harder…”

“It’s not that I really need it to get places,” Keith says, soft, meditative. “I’ve got the Harley for that. It’s just…” He gives the steering wheel a squeeze. “This car was my dad’s, when he was young. He was a drag racer.” A small smile, glowing with warm memory, graces his sharp features.

“Sounds like a badass,” Shiro says. “Any chance he could chip in for the repairs?”

“He died when I was ten,” Keith murmurs.

“I’m so sorry,” Shiro sputters, terrified that he’s offended him, but Keith smiles at him across the center console.

“Nah, don’t be sorry. He was a fireman, so… yeah, typical dumbass hero type, getting himself into the worst situations to try to help other people.” To Shiro’s surprise, he lets out a peal of soft laughter, like a bell. “I don’t even think he would have wanted me to sink so much cash into keeping this thing running, but… it’s all I have left of him. I know it’s stupid.”

Shiro doesn’t know why, doesn’t even consider it first before he’s reaching across the car to lay a comforting hand on Keith’s shoulder. “It’s not stupid.”

He immediately second-guesses the touch, thinks he should pull away, but then the glitter of Keith’s tears catches his eye. Big, warm-looking droplets that shine like gold in the late afternoon sun streaming into the garage.

“Hey… It’s gonna be okay.” Shiro’s tone is gentle. It’s striking even to him, the way he can get so soft with this guy. Shiro, the beefed-up auto mechanic always streaked with motor oil stains, his black hair buzzed off at the neck, looking more like he’s about to get in a bar fight than into a…

A hug? Before he realizes what’s happening, Keith is leaning into him, folding Shiro’s big shoulders into his narrow arms, and Shiro’s nose gets smushed into his shoulder. He smells good. Like a bonfire, like sage, like a night sky.

Shiro breathes in deep and hopes Keith doesn’t notice.

“Thanks,” Keith murmurs against his neck. “That really means a lot.”

“Uh, Keith…”

Keith pulls away just enough to look at him. Their faces hover so close together that Shiro can feel the body heat radiating from him, feel the exhaled breath from Keith’s nose ghosting across his lips.

“Yeah,” Keith whispers.

“I’m… gonna do my best,” Shiro tries, awkwardly, softly. “I might know a guy who can get the parts I need for cheap. He owes me. So don’t worry too much about it, okay?”

Keith glances away, eyes darting. He’s stopped crying. It confuses Shiro for another couple of heartbeats, until Keith says in a low voice, “Look, um, I get it. You’re doing me a favor, so… I don’t mind doing you a favor, too. That’s how it works, right?” He stares at Shiro pointedly, then reaches over for the zipper of Shiro’s jeans.

Naturally, Shiro springs away from him like a chased rabbit. “Uh, um, no! No, no, Keith, that’s… that’s not what I… I would never want to do that with you.”

It comes out so bad, and Keith just frowns at him in what looks like a complicated mixture of relief and…

“Oh.” Keith scoots back toward the driver’s side window. “Sorry.”

“Um, it’s… it’s okay.” Shiro wracks his brain for a response. “I just meant that I… I would never take advantage of you.” He gnaws the inside of his cheek nervously. “I would never ask you to… y'know, do anything like that.”

“Then… why are you sticking your neck out for me?” Keith eyes him, a little warily. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that sob story about my dad. You don’t have to treat me like a charity case, or anything.”

“I like you.”

It makes them both stop in their tracks. Keith blinks a few times at the windshield, then looks back at him. “What?”

“I just…” Shiro’s eyebrows quirk skyward in helplessness. “I’m doing this because I like you. I don’t have any other reason. I just want to.” He glances down at Keith’s hand resting on the gear shift. “Is that… um… are we good?”

Keith glances in the rearview mirror at the empty parking lot, then into the dark garage office, then back into Shiro’s eyes. “Hey, Shiro… I like you, too.”

Shiro’s breath hitches, his heart racing even harder. “Really?”

Keith laughs. “Really. But, you know, the car trouble isn’t on purpose…”

Against his better judgment, but knowing they’re the only ones left in the garage, Shiro takes a deep, nervous, shaky breath. He doesn’t risk letting the moment slip by; he gathers his confidence and leans across the gap between the front seats, plants a kiss on Keith’s lips.

It’s only a few seconds, but Shiro wishes it would last forever. He lingers close, and their eyes meet again; Keith’s gaze is heavy-lidded, warm. He smiles, and it’s like a ray of sunshine in itself. His eyelashes are long, dark, and they beat his cheeks as soft as butterfly wings as he leans in to kiss back.

Shiro sits stock-still, almost meditative. Their lips meet again, and the air between them warms, and Keith slips a hand up over the nape of his neck. Shiro cranes his neck into a deeper kiss, a soft sound of pleasure escaping him from deep in his chest. One of his hands hesitates midair over Keith’s shoulder, only for a beat, then settles on the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Keith doesn’t rebuff him, but sighs contentedly, trailing fingernails lightly along his buzzed hairline.

Shiro’s lips migrate slowly from Keith’s, across his jaw and down the side of his neck. The movement is almost feverish, his breathing heavy in between, and he hears Keith moan close to his ear. Shiro mouths at the tendon in his throat, chases it to his collarbone just under the collar of his t-shirt. Keith’s skin tastes delicious here, like strawberry saltwater taffy.

“Hey, Shiro?” Keith whispers. Shiro looks up, meets his eyes.

“Huh?”

“I don’t want to take this too fast.” His violet gaze dances over Shiro’s face. “But… I do want to return the favor. Would you want to maybe… come over for dinner?” He pauses, searches his face. “Would that be weird?”

Shiro cracks a beaming smile. “That’d be great.”

“Okay.” Keith tucks a wild black curl behind his ear. “Then… it’s a date?”

“It’s a date.”

Keith smiles into another kiss, and they stay like that for a long time, just kissing, stealing each other’s breath in the old racing car, and Keith feels like his heart barrels over desert sand from a starting line.


End file.
